MY BRUSH WITH GREATNESS, PART 1.
I was in Madrid last Saturday with the entire morning to kill. Maria was having her hair done, and the in-laws were babysitting Inés. This was more freedom than I’d experienced in years.
Strolling down Calle O’Donnell en route to a Hispanic grocery store, I passed a familiar figure on the sidewalk: Pedro Almodovar.
That’s it. I just passed him. I was walking in one direction, and he in the other. No chitchat. No brushing of shoulders. No flirtatious eye-contact. Still, I felt a bit giddy. He is, after all, Spain’s second or third best director (depending on your feelings toward cross-dressing).
He was walking alone; carrying a shopping bag. He wore Dockers, sneakers, sunglasses, and a golf shirt (untucked, of course). He had neither bodyguards nor an entourage. He looked totally unstressed and unhurried.
At first, I wondered if it might be a Pedro wannabe. Spain seems to breed these types. I recall that a few years ago, a woman named Rocio Carrasco injured her neck in a car accident. Never heard of Rocio? Well then, you must not be Spanish. She is the daughter of a singer and a former boxing champion. That’s her claim to fame. Nothing more. Not even a college degree. Yet every minute detail of her love life and bi-monthly vacations are chronicled in Spain’s many “magazines of the heart” (e.g., Hola, Diez Minutos, and all their imitators…many of which are accumulating on the floor my wife’s bathroom). During the weeks and months following Rocio’s neck injury, I noticed a rather sharp increase in the number of women sporting neckbraces in Barcelona. Coincidence or idol worship? You be judge.
But back to Pedro. I quickly ruled out the possibility of an imposter. While it is easy to don a neckbrace (a la Rocio), it’s entirely another matter to inflate the diameter of one’s neck to match that of the head (a la Pedro). Yep, it was Pedro all right. And I saw him in the flesh.
An hour later, I met up with my in-laws and broke the exciting news. Their response: “Pedro? Oh yeah, he lives around here.” That’s it.
From now on, I’ll leave idol worship to the readers of Hola.
Strolling down Calle O’Donnell en route to a Hispanic grocery store, I passed a familiar figure on the sidewalk: Pedro Almodovar.
That’s it. I just passed him. I was walking in one direction, and he in the other. No chitchat. No brushing of shoulders. No flirtatious eye-contact. Still, I felt a bit giddy. He is, after all, Spain’s second or third best director (depending on your feelings toward cross-dressing).
He was walking alone; carrying a shopping bag. He wore Dockers, sneakers, sunglasses, and a golf shirt (untucked, of course). He had neither bodyguards nor an entourage. He looked totally unstressed and unhurried.
At first, I wondered if it might be a Pedro wannabe. Spain seems to breed these types. I recall that a few years ago, a woman named Rocio Carrasco injured her neck in a car accident. Never heard of Rocio? Well then, you must not be Spanish. She is the daughter of a singer and a former boxing champion. That’s her claim to fame. Nothing more. Not even a college degree. Yet every minute detail of her love life and bi-monthly vacations are chronicled in Spain’s many “magazines of the heart” (e.g., Hola, Diez Minutos, and all their imitators…many of which are accumulating on the floor my wife’s bathroom). During the weeks and months following Rocio’s neck injury, I noticed a rather sharp increase in the number of women sporting neckbraces in Barcelona. Coincidence or idol worship? You be judge.
But back to Pedro. I quickly ruled out the possibility of an imposter. While it is easy to don a neckbrace (a la Rocio), it’s entirely another matter to inflate the diameter of one’s neck to match that of the head (a la Pedro). Yep, it was Pedro all right. And I saw him in the flesh.
An hour later, I met up with my in-laws and broke the exciting news. Their response: “Pedro? Oh yeah, he lives around here.” That’s it.
From now on, I’ll leave idol worship to the readers of Hola.
posted by Sal DeTraglia @ 11:21 PM
2 Comments in the VTB Chat Lounge
2 Comments:
I don't read them. But I do treat Ana Obregon's annual bikini picture as an event that's on par with Eurovision. I understand that this year her bikini will be made from her last month's pension check.
How long to wait for Part II ?
By the way, I first read My BUSH .. Just obsessed
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